


New Pornographers

by heyginger



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Humor, M/M, Post-Hiatus, Sex Tapes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 21:15:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11021754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyginger/pseuds/heyginger
Summary: “Yeah,” Pete says.  He takes a deep breath like he’s bracing himself for something.  “Yeah, so...Patrick and I made a sex tape.”  Suit Number Two’s pen drops to the table with a loud clatter.  “And it got out, and it’s about to hit the internet.”





	New Pornographers

Pete calls a meeting with management.  They all show up, of course; the hiatus just ended and there’s a lot to talk about--decisions to be made.  Patrick is tired, sitting at the end of a conference table, near a potted plant, sipping on his coffee and watching Joe and Andy shoot the shit with the execs in the room.  That’s when Pete comes in, hoodie pulled up over his blond hair, and it’s not really fair that somehow, the older he gets, the better he looks, at least to Patrick.  Something about the way he’s healthier, the way the lines at the corners of eyes seem like they’re there because of happiness, not misery.

 

Pete comes in, pulling his sunglasses off, and Patrick shuts down that line of thought, and they all turn to look at Pete while he flops down into a chair at the head of the table and rests his forearms flat on the surface in front of him.

 

“I’ve called you all here today…” he says tapping his finger together like a detective, and then chuckles.  “No, but seriously, thanks for coming. And I’ve called you all here today because there’s a situation that we’re probably going to need to deal with.”

 

“Okay,” says Suit Number One, looking apprehensive.  “I’m guessing it’s a publicity issue?” And that’s just an easy guess, knowing Pete.

 

“Yeah,” Pete says.  He takes a deep breath like he’s bracing himself for something.  “Yeah, so...Patrick and I made a sex tape.”  Suit Number Two’s pen drops to the table with a loud clatter.  “And it got out, and it’s about to hit the internet.”

 

There’s a five second pause and then everyone starts talking at once.

 

Joe says, “Oh, Jesus,” and puts his face in his hands….

 

At that moment, Andy says, “No, you guys…” like a disappointed mother...

 

Right then, Suits Number Three through Six start conferencing at the end of the table; a phone comes out; someone is talking about calling TMZ, and two suits turn to Pete, flooding him with questions about how he knows it’s been leaked, and who has the footage.

 

It all happens at the exact same moment; seriously, it couldn’t have been choreographed better.

 

Patrick doesn’t really say anything, at first. He just sits there and sips his coffee.  When the din gets really noisy, he speaks up.

 

“So…” Patrick says, projecting.  Everyone shuts up.  “Patrick...Stewart?”

 

Pete glares at him, like his fucking feelings are hurt, which is ridiculous.   _ Patrick _ is the one who gets to have hurt feelings, if Pete slept with fucking Patrick Stewart and taped it and didn’t tell Patrick (Stump).

“...Swayze?” he hazards another guess.  “Because that would make a lot of sense, actually, with ‘Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner’.  But he’s been dead for a while, man, so...”

 

Pete just looks forebodingly at Patrick, like he’s just--he’s trying to forebode Patrick somehow.  Like that ever works.  Joe looks confused, but Andy looks as hopeful as a guy who is realizing that maybe the gay sex tape scandal that is about to engulf his band  _ won’t _ involve both his bass player and his lead singer.  It might just involve Pete Wentz, which is a much more easily explainable phenomenon.  You can practically handwave that away.

 

Pete isn’t answering, so Patrick continues.  “Dumpsey?  What’s that guy’s name...McCreamy?”

 

The Suits are quiet, fingers clawed and ready on cellphone screens, waiting, all paused on a hopeful breath.

 

“What the hell are you talking about, Patrick?” Pete lies.  The question is a lie, and Patrick narrows his eyes down the table at him.

 

“Who’s your co-star?”  Patrick’s coffee is gone, and he turns to toss the empty paper cup into a trash can.  There’s no trash can near him, just the potted plant.  He nestles the empty coffee cup into the dirt, because why the fuck not, it’s some sort of crazy opposite day.

 

“Patrick,” Pete says, in his very serious voice.  “Patrick.  The sex tape that  _ you and I _ made is going to be on the internet.  Can you  _ please _ stop talking about fucking Gray’s Anatomy?”

 

“Sure,” Patrick says, calmly.  “Sure, Pete.  I can stop talking.”  He stands up and walks calmly out of the room.  His jacket is still over the back of the chair, but fuck it.  Someone will bring it to him.  Or sell it on eBay.  Whatever.

 

+++

 

Joe is really concerned, when he shows up at Patrick’s place that night.  Patrick knows this, because Joe tells him.

 

“I’m really concerned,” Joe says.  “This is like--okay, Pete’s dick pics were bad enough.  But a sex tape?  Like, it’s way worse.   _ Way _ worse.  That’s like...live-action.  Like, grunting, and.  Rolling around.  On a bed.  Were you on a bed? Or was it, like--where? Like on Pete’s couch or something?  Standing up?”

 

Joe wants to see the tape.  Patrick knows this because Joe’s cheeks are flushed and he’s breathing heavy.  Also, Joe has always been a little perv.  Patrick kicks him out.

 

“I’m just worried!” Joe calls, as he gets shoved out the door.  “It’s going to be really embarrassing, for you, to be so revealed!  Are there close-ups?”

 

+++

 

Andy is very concerned.  He says this when he knocks on Patrick’s door, and Patrick thinks how nice it is that Fall Out Boy, as a band, isn’t afraid to share their feelings of concern with each other.  No macho posturing here.  These guys just walk up to you and tell you how they’re feeling, right to your face.

 

Fucking assholes.

 

“I’m really concerned,” Andy says.  “This doesn’t seem like, typical of you, Patrick.  I mean--Pete, yes--this has Pete written all over it.  But it seems out of character for you to agree to something like this.”

 

“Yeah, it’s not,” Patrick says.  “I didn’t make a sex tape with Pete--I would  _ never agree-- _ ”

 

Andy cuts him off.  “You didn’t  _ consent _ ?” he asks, sounding appalled.  “Pete recorded you without your  _ consent _ ?”

 

Andy’s not an asshole, it turns out.  He’s like--ethical.

 

“I would never agree to fuck Pete,” Patrick says.  “Is what I was going to say.”  Patrick is getting a bit hysterical.  “I think I’m getting hysterical, here!” he shrieks.  “You people think I would have  _ sex _ with  _ Pete _ ?!  What the ever-loving  _ fuck _ !”

 

“Whoa,” Andy puts his hands bracingly on Patrick’s shoulders, and Patrick starts to calm down.  “Whoa, Patrick.  You shouldn’t say  _ you people _ .  It’s derogatory.”

 

Patrick kicks Andy out, too, but he almost feels bad about it.  At least Andy didn’t ask him who was pitching and who was catching.

 

+++

 

Pete doesn’t come by.  Patrick is pissed off about this, thinking about how much he doesn’t want to be the one who shows up on  _ Pete’s _ door and announces  _ his _ feelings.  But really, the situation is untenable.

 

He drives over and parks on Pete’s lawn a little bit.  Seems justified.  Then he knocks on the door.  When Pete answers, he pushes his way in and says, “I’m really concerned…”

 

Pete looks at him with those big, serious eyes.

 

“I’m concerned that you’ve  _ lost your mind _ , Pete, Jesus, what the fucking  _ fuck _ !”

 

Pete responds like some warped version of the newer, saner him.  He looks at Patrick very seriously and says, “I haven’t, Patrick, I swear, I’m okay,”  like he thinks Patrick is there to politely inquire about his mental health.  

 

“You are  _ not _ okay,” Patrick says.  “You are insane.  You are an insane person.  This is insane.  Am I insane?”  Patrick squints his eyes under his glasses and rubs at them.

 

Pete sighs, and leads Patrick into the living room, pushing him back onto one of the big, white couches.  Pete kneels in front of him, peering into his face and grabbing his knees, like Patrick’s having a panic attack or something.

 

“We’ll be okay,” Pete says, reassuringly, like a tornado survivor being interviewed on the local news.  “Life goes on,” he says.  “We’ll rally.”

 

He pats Patrick’s knees.  “I’m really sorry about the tape,” he says.

 

“There is,” Patrick whispers, “no fucking tape.”  He bows his head forward and whispers it again, “There is no fucking tape.”  He taps his heels together; his chucks are red, maybe Glinda will come and take him back to reality.  “There is no fucking tape.”  Everything around him is spinning.  This is not his beautiful house.  Flying monkeys are howling over head.

 

“Oh, well.  Of course not,” Pete says.

 

Patrick opens one eye, and Pete is just looking at him, matter of fact.  He opens the other, tentatively.  He’s not sure if this is really a two-eye situation, or more of an eyes wide shut thing.

 

“We haven’t slept together yet.”  Pete says, and sits back on his heels.

 

Patrick promised once, after the Honda Civic Tour, not to punch Pete anymore.  He’s an adult now, and the punching was childish.  He feels very morally superior about resisting the urge to punch now, as his fingers wrap around Pete’s throat.   _ This is progress _ , he thinks, pressing his thumbs in a bit.   _ I’ve matured _ .

 

Pete is making some  _ ack ack _ noises on every exhale and some deep  _ hnnnnghhhh _ sounds with every inhale, like he can’t breathe, so Patrick lets him go.  He coughs a lot, and Patrick slaps him on the back.  Heartily, and with vigor, until Pete is flinching away a bit.

 

“Okay,” Pete says, when he gets his voice back. “I’m okay with the choking thing, but I think we should keep it off the tape.  It gives me a boner, for sure, but it makes you look like a serial killer.”

 

Patrick has no blood in his head.  That’s what shock is, right?  Because that’s what’s happening. “What does shock feel like?” he wonders aloud.  “It’s like when you’re in a car crash, right?  A trauma?  Am I in shock?  I think I’m in shock.”  He tries to take his own pulse.  “Here,” he says, leaning forward and offering a cheek.  “Slap me.”

 

“Yeeeah,” Pete says, eyes flickering over Patrick’s face.  “Still 100% on board, but I don’t think we should do that on the video, either.”

 

“What.” Patrick says.  Then, “why…?”  He lets it trail.

 

“Why what?”

 

“Just  _ why _ ?” he says.  “I don’t have any blood in my brain.  This is not my beautiful wife.  That’s all I can manage.”

 

“Hmm,” Pete says.  “Yeah, okay.  I just thought...it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission, I guess.”

 

“Sure,” Patrick remarks.  

 

“You say that a lot, you know, about forgiveness.” Pete adds.  “See, I listen to you.”

 

“Hmm,” Patrick ruminates.

 

“I thought it would be easier, for you,” Pete says in a rush, and he looks almost nervous.  “If you didn’t have to worry about, like, what everyone would say.  Or what could go wrong.  So, I just.  Sped up the worst possible scenario.”

 

“I see,” Patrick says. And, oh, look at that!  The blood is going back to his brain again.

 

“Like ripping off a bandaid,” Pete finishes his thought.  If you can call it that.

 

Patrick nods.  The blood is really rushing back now; all those neurons are jumping.  “So, this was your way of...propositioning me.”

 

“Uh,” Pete comments.

 

“You would like to sleep with me,” Patrick’s voice is coming out very pleasantly.  “And you thought, what...you’d, you’d-- _ hey _ , a grand gesture!”

 

“Well,” Pete divulges.

 

“A grand gesture for Patrick!  I’ll just...tell everyone we have a sex tape.  I’ll call a meeting about it.  And he’ll, Patrick will, just…” Patrick shrugs.  “What?  What happens now?”

 

“I didn’t...really think about it, I guess,” Pete says.  He looks a little pale.  “I don’t--there’s no blood in my brain.  I didn’t think this far in advance.”

 

“Ah,” Patrick nods, mock seriously.  Stupid Pete.  “Are you in shock?  Should I slap you?”  There’s a smile peeking through; Patrick can’t control it.  

 

“Yeeah,” Pete says, “but maybe we could, like, go to the bedroom first?  It might be the most therapeutic place.  For the slapping.”  Pete is smiling, too, and he looks stupid young.  Except for those lines around his eyes.  Patrick wants to lick them.

 

He smacks his hands down on his thighs and then stands up.  “Okay,” he says.  “Let’s, uh...bedroom.”

 

“Sure, yes,” Pete says.  “Just, like, one thing first.”

 

“Two things,” Patrick corrects.

 

“Two things?” Pete stands and moves closer, until his hips are almost touching Patrick’s.  He licks his bottom lip, and Patrick watches his tongue.

 

“Number one,” Patrick says, swaying in closer until he’s breathing against Pete’s mouth, “kiss me.”

 

“What’s two?” 

 

“Grab the selfie-stick.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _This is not my beautiful house_ and _This is not my beautiful wife_ are lines from "Once In A Lifetime" by the Talking Heads. Great song.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope it made you chuckle, at least.


End file.
